


Until He Comes to Me

by versaillesatnight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Bottom Steve Rogers, Earth Witch Nat, Fairy!Bucky, Fluff, Honestly just fairies and fluff and potions, M/M, True Love, Witch!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:46:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versaillesatnight/pseuds/versaillesatnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Bucky is a bound fairy who doesn't want to be helped, and Steve is the smartass witch who won't listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until He Comes to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends!! I would like to start by saying that writing Stucky is the funnest pairing to write ever. This whole story borrowed liberally from Stardust from Neil Gaiman, especially for the fairy market, and besides that it is just gratuitous wish fulfillment. The title is from the love spell from Practical Magic and I really really loved writing this so I hope you enjoy reading it!! Let me know if there's any glaring errors cause it is unbetaed and I do not think this needs any other warnings it is literally the fic equivalent of disgusting, sickening spun sugar.

Steve usually shops for his potion supplies on Tuesday afternoons, but today a woman came in requesting a drawing spell that Steve didn’t even begin to have the ingredients for. It was to draw her soul mate close to her, and she was almost glowing with hope. The next full moon was, of course, on Sunday. If he didn’t go now, she’d have to wait a whole month for her potion to be ready.

So Steve smiled and nodded and took down some notes on what her preferences would require him to purchase. He headed off to the market.

The passage from his side of the gate into the fairy market was only a few blocks away from Steve’s apartment. It was one of the reasons why he chose it. All that it takes to enter the market is a small bowl of milk, three drops of blood, and a muttered request. The section that always opened to the passage on the chain-link fence shimmers like a mirage and then disappears altogether, leaving a hole in the gate.

Steve leaves the bowl of milk so the gate pixies can drink it, still a little repulsed at how many pixies seemed to like the combination.

The other side of the wall is a different world from the city sidewalk Steve enters from. There’s taller grass than Steve’s ever seen on his side. It covers a wide field, stretching out at least half a mile till Steve finds himself on the familiar path to the market.

It’s a busy day. There’s a wagon rolling through the market’s wide, wooden archway as Steve enters the market, causing Steve to press his slender body against the beams to let it pass.

The sky is blue and clear overhead, sun beating down pleasantly warm for the middle of autumn, and the heat of the crowds and cauldrons and fire all contribute to Steve feeling overheated and sweaty.

Some of the people Steve recognizes from his side of the wall, some he’s sure come from another entrance altogether.

Many of the stall operators recognize Steve.  
“Mr. Rogers!” They shout, “Got you some of my freshest lavenders here, some of my finest river stones. You still looking for some dragon’s coal?”

“No ma’am, I’m actually looking for—“

Steve is jostled hard from behind and is rammed into the stall next to Mrs. Hadley’s.

“Ow!” Steve shouts, “Watch where you’re going!”

The man turns to face him. He’s tall, broad, towering. Steve swallows and tries to recall the last time he encountered a half giant. It hadn’t gone very well for him.

“Sorry,” the giant says with a thick Jersey accent, “I can hardly even see you there. Were you talking to me?”

“Um,” Steve hesitates, then shakes his head, “Just ‘cause you’re a hell of a lot bigger doesn’t mean you can push little people around,”  
The giant’s smile drops off his face, lips turning into a severe frown, “Little people? You some kind of fucking elf?” He cracks his knuckles.

“What? No!” Steve says, feeling his face heat up, “I’m—“

He glances at the giant’s tensing posture and remembers in a split second the relations between giants and elves over the past couple months.

He tries to swallow his words, but they bubble up anyway, “Even I was you wouldn’t have any right to knock me around,”

Jesus Christ, what was his ma’ always telling him? If he had just—

“Frederick,” A deep voice says from the stall Steve had been thrust into, “This here’s a pal of mine. A very human pal. You don’t wanna be messing with a friend of mine, do you?”

The half-giant stares at the man who clearly owns the stall, mouth opening and closing dumbly for a minute as his face twists between frustration and defeat before settling on the latter.

“Keep a better eye on your friend, Barnes,” Frederick says, before turning and continuing to bluntly shoulder his way through the crowds of people.

Steve takes a moment to relax, his body catching up with the fact that he wasn’t going to have the living shit beaten out of him.

He turns to thank his rescuer, offer a potion or small token as a sign of gratitude. Steve knew the rules of the fairy market. Nothing came for free.

“Thank you for that,” Steve says, taking in the tall, dark man before him. He’s beautiful, not that that’s a rare thing in the fairy market—glamours and beauty charms as easy to come upon as the air Steve breathed—but still. Steve finds himself a little shorter of breath.

“No trouble at all,” Barnes replies, Brooklyn accent coming through, “Frederick ain’t anything to worry about. Just a bunch of bark.”

The man’s smile quirks up then, “Sorta like you.”

Steve’s mouth is already open, “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Before he realizes Barnes is goading him.

Steve snaps his mouth shut and he glares, “You think you’re real clever, don’t you?”

Barnes laughs, “Well, I don’t think I’m dumb.”

Steve finds himself smiling along despite himself, “Just tell me what I owe you, so I can get you outta my hair.”

Barnes’s laugh dies out, and he tilts his head like he’s assessing Steve. It’s not an unpleasant look, but Steve’s stomach flips a little all the same.

“A kiss,” the man says, eyes dark as he leans closer to Steve, “Nothing untoward about it, no need to worry. I’m a gentleman.”

Steve tries to think what the fuck this fairy could be playing at. His entire face heats up, body freezing. But then Barnes laughs again and leans away from Steve.

“Just fucking with you,” he says, “You don’t owe me anything.”

Steve is struck dumb for maybe the first time in his life.

“What?” He says when he finally gets his mouth to work again.  
“Don’t owe me a thing, kid. Consider the debt paid,”

“But—“ Steve starts, and Barnes turns to cut him a look strikingly different from the warmth that met Steve before.  
“If you take up anymore of my time, though,” he says, “I might change my mind.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes, “Um, okay, thanks again. I guess.”

Barnes makes a grunting noise and Steve turns away to get back on track to collecting the ingredients he came to the market for in the first place.

He glances back only once, and his lips tingle with the thought of what would have happened if he had just had a little more nerve.

❁ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✾ ✿

Steve gets most of the ingredients fairly quickly, but he can’t find swamp nettles _anywhere._ They were out of season, Mr. Lampas told him, and he’d have to wait for spring.

But Steve didn’t have time for spring, and neither did the woman asking for the drawing spell. Which leads to Steve leaving the market earlier than he expected, and making the much longer trek to Manhattan.

He arrives outside Nat’s place a little before six, but the sun is already low in the sky. Steve shivers in the light jacket he brought with him and knocks on the door.  
Steve hears music from somewhere inside, and the quiet padding of feet before the door swings open.  
“Steve!” Natasha exclaims, pushing her back against the door to let Steve come in,

Nat’s apartment smells clean and warm. She welcomes him inside, and Steve toes off his shoes.

Natasha trails Steve up the stairs, and asks him if he’d like a cup of tea.

Steve relents, but asks for something with mint in it because otherwise there’s no telling what Nat will cook up for him.

She comes into the living room a few minutes after Steve gets settled on her ancient, comfy pink couch.

She plops down next to Steve on the couch, black dress billowing dramatically before she gathers it under her and smooths it under her thighs.

“So,” she says, “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

Steve sniffs the tea Nat gives him before taking a delicate sip. It’s definitely got some mint in it but—Steve tries to collect spit in his mouth to wash the taste away.  
“I thought you might have some swamp nettles left over from spring,” Steve says.

Nat clicks her tongue, “So not just here to catch up?”

“I saw you four days ago, Nat,” Steve says.  
“Well a lot has happened since then,” Nat says, pushing her hair over her shoulder, “For example, I ran fresh out of swamp nettles.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “C’mon, Nat. I’ll do all your market shopping next week.”

Natasha stands with a flourish to flounce into her bedroom. It’s where she keeps her smaller greenhouses, stacked all around her bed; from the few times Nat let Steve see the room.

Earth witches. _Honestly._

Natasha comes out a little while later with a small glass jar filled to the brim with swamp nettles.

“I don’t know why you aren’t selling this stuff,” Steve says as he takes the jar from her, “You always have way more selection than the market.”

Nat makes a _mmm_ noise, which means she’s irritated, “Steve, my plants aren’t just products to mass produce and sell to God knows who. Amateurs who will waste them. Nasty witches who will use them in curses.”

She peers into Steve’s mostly full tea cup on the coffee table and huffs, “They deserve _better,_ ” she says, and picks up Steve’s cup to go pour it into a suspiciously colored glass jar near the sink.

“With you, I can trust they’re in good hands,” She eyes where she just poured the tea, “Mostly.”

Steve nods his understanding and thanks her, promising the nettles are going to a good cause.

“And I’ll just send you my shopping list for the market!” Natasha yells as Steve heads towards the door.  
“Okay, Natasha, I’ve got it,” Steve replies, fiddling with the finicky lock on Natasha’s door.

It’s already dark out, and pushing into late autumn. Steve shivers a little as he gets the door open, and before it’s even out of his mouth Natasha is _right behind him_ slipping one of her heavy, perfumed scarves around his neck.

“I really appreciate it, Steve,” She says, and presses a kiss to his cheek.

Steve shoos her away with a sound of disgust and wraps the scarf around him tightly.

❁ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✾ ✿

His promise has Steve heading back to the market much sooner than he wants to be. Trips to the market are never fun, but Natasha specifies that she needs something from Luna.

“You know Luna’s only there on Saturday’s,” Steve texts her back, having trouble conveying his annoyance through text.

“I do, actually,” Natasha replies and Steve tosses to phone down in irritation.

The swamp nettles weren’t worth it. It was a trap. The woman who needed the drawing spell ended up being about a hundred bucks short, too. Completely unfair.

But she’d been so happy and apologetic and promised to bring Steve some treats from her restaurant that Steve couldn’t really begrudge her a couple bucks.

He makes the trek to the entrance and leaves the usual offering, ducking under the chain-link when the passage opens.

The market is no less chaotic than the last time Steve visited, but this trip does have the benefit of Steve only having to worry about Nat’s rare ingredients. His list is fairly standard.

He passes the cart belonging to the fairy from his previous trip and feels himself flush.

He’s there again. One of the weekend vendors, then, Steve guesses. He’s dressed beautifully, dark black jack cinched around the waist with a band of red silk. His hair looks really, soft, too. He’s looking around the market casually, but mostly just leaning against his stall. He doesn’t look like he’s trying to make a sale at all.

Steve’s heading towards his stall before he can stop himself, and then the man turns to meets his eyes and Steve knows he can’t back out.

“Look who it is,” the man says as Steve gets closer, then he furrows his brow.

“Now wait. Who is it again?”

Steve got used to the strange ways fairies sometimes spoke a while ago. If he hadn’t picked everything up in the markets, Nat was half raised by fairies. Riddles and odd turns of phrase fell out of her clever mouth easily, and if Steve didn’t want to be completely lost, he had to learn quickly.

He smiles, “It’s Steve. Just wanted to say thank you again.”

The man nods, “Thought I told you to stop with that.”

“Nah, you told me to stop wasting your time. But you don’t seem to be doing anything here anyway, so I thought I’d stop by.”

“That so?” The man asks, “How come I’ve never seen you in market before, and now, all of the sudden, I’ve got a mouthy little witch bothering me every Saturday.”

Steve smiles even though the fairy’s face remains deadpan, “Guess someone’s cast a luck spell on you, pal.”

Barnes huffs out a humorless laugh, “Goddamn, Steve, if you only knew the half of it.”

Steve’s confused. He doesn’t know what the fairy is getting at. Sure, no one likes the vending circuit, but the fairy is gorgeous and charming and has a nice stall and Steve can’t imagine what’s making him so unhappy. He’s struck by an urge to help, even though he knows his craft is all but useless to fairies.  

“Well if someone hasn’t cast one on you,” Steve says, “I would be happy to. You know, since you saved my two front teeth last week.”

The man finally smiles, but it looks heavy and tired on his face, “That’s awful nice of you, Steve, but I’m gonna have to pass.”

Steve tries not to let his disappointment show, but it must a little, because Barnes rolls his eyes, “Look, if you want to pay me back so bad, why don’t you hang around a while.”

Steve has a few more things to get, but the prospect of staying with Barnes for a few more hours is infinitely more appealing.

“Sure,” he says, “Anything I can help you with?”

Barnes winks, “Nah, sweetheart. How about you just stand there and look pretty?”

Steve can feel himself blush hotly, thrown off by the abruptness of Barnes’ mood swing.

Barnes looks Steve over and his face does this weird little twist around the mouth. Steve guesses he’s pretty pleased with himself.

Whatever Barnes says, it only takes a few minutes of chatting before he thrusts a basket of herbs in Steve’s direction and tells him to stop slacking.  
“Thought I was improving the view,” Steve says and Barnes outright smiles. It’s kind of disorienting, but Steve’s moved back into action by Barnes knocking against him with his elbow, “Think pretty highly of yourself, huh, Steve?”

Steve scoffs, “Sure, like I came up with that on my own,” but he’s smiling.

Steve gets to work bottling the herbs. Talking to Barnes comes easily, dark mood practically forgotten with his easy flirting and sharp tongue. The overwhelming bustle of the market quiets a little. Steve’s attention is solely centered on the little bubble of the stall.

The fairy does apparently usually go by Barnes, but he crooks a smile towards Steve and says, “But my friends call me Bucky. I mean, if I had friends.”

It’s another one of Bucky’s bizarre statements that throws Steve off guard. It’s not just a fairy thing, though some fairies can be temperamental, Steve has never found most of the stereotypes to be true.

But even this was never covered by the broad classifications put on fairies. Either Bucky has a very weird sense of humor, or—well, Steve can’t imagine anyone like Bucky wouldn’t have flocks of admirers.

After he finishes bottling herbs, Bucky lamely tells Steve that he still needs some inventory done, and Steve doesn’t want to leave anyway, so he lets it slide.

It’s nearing dusk when Steve notices it. Maybe it’s the way the light hits the stall now that the sun is setting, and it’s barely a glance, but Steve’s bending down to return a basket to its place when he sees light glint off a delicate, hair width chain wrapped around Bucky’s ankle.

The silver thread is tied back to the stall, and then the light changes. It’s such a brief glance that Steve doubts what he saw for half a second.

But then he meets Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky looks so close to downright panic that it couldn’t have been a trick of the light.

“Bucky,” Steve says, and he doesn’t know how to continue.

It’s like the bubble of warmth that had surrounded the stall pops, and Bucky’s mouth presses into a thin line, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Steve says, “Bucky, you’re chained to a stall. I’m guessing you didn’t do that yourself.”  
Bucky doesn’t say anything.  
“This is the furthest thing from okay, Bucky. Listen to me. Whoever did this is going to have hell to pay, let me tell you. You gotta know that I can’t just—you gotta know how wrong this is.” 

Bucky is staring steadfast at the ground, “Jesus Christ, Steve, you have such a fucking mouth on you.”

“Bucky, you have to tell me how to help you. Who did this? I swear to God, Buck, I’ll get you out of this,”

Bucky scowls at him, “No, you fucking won’t. Didn’t get me into it, not your job to get me out of it.”

“That’s bullshit!” Steve says.

Bucky turns away from him then, though, and Steve feels so far from reaching him that he may as well not even be in Steve’s sight.

“Bucky,” he says quietly, “Come on. Please. I can’t just leave you like this.”

“I was like this before you spent all of, what, five fucking hours with me? And I seemed to be doing just fine,” Bucky snaps.

Steve guesses at what Bucky’s trying to do, but it doesn’t take the sting out of it. Maybe Bucky hadn’t felt the connection that Steve had, but even if that were the case, Steve still wouldn’t be okay with this. It wasn’t _about_ that.

“Stop being a stubborn dick,” Steve says, “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because I don’t want your fucking help, Steve! Jesus, do you ever just shut _up_ and listen?”

Steve’s lips press into a thin line, “I don’t think you mean that.”

“Well I don’t want to have to say it again, but here—I don’t want your fucking help.”

Steve narrows his eyes; “I’m leaving, but only because I’m going to figure this out.”

“Steve, don’t you fucking dare.”

Steve steps away from the cart, “What’re you going to do? Follow me?”

“Really?” Bucky’s voice sounds suspiciously shriek-y, “You’re gonna make fun of me being bound? _Really?”_

“No, I’m going to get you out of being bound,” Steve says, still backing away from the cart, “But like I said, if you don’t want me to, feel free to come and stop me.”

“You’re an _asshole,”_ Bucky says.

Steve shrugs, “Okay, Buck, good talk. Same time next week?”

“You’re a piece of goddamn work,” Bucky yells from across the space Steve has put between them. Steve doesn’t turn to look, but he thinks Bucky sounds a little less pissed. He almost sounds like he’s impressed. Steve smiles and keeps walking.

❁ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✾ ✿

“Well that just doesn’t make any _sense,”_ Nat says, “Why hasn’t one of the other fairies reported it? Why is he so _okay_ with it?” Nat paces the length of her apartment’s living room.

“Are you sure it was a binding chain?”

“Pretty sure, Nat.”

“Well that just doesn’t make any sense,” Natalia murmurs again.  
“Yeah, you said that.”

Nat cuts Steve a look, “Hey, look, you came to me for help.”

Steve sighs, “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I just want to help the guy. He seems like he’s all on his own.”

Natalia sits next to him on the couch and places a hand on his arm.  
“You know, I only other bound fairy I ever heard of never got out of it. I never met the guy, but you hear about these kinds of things. It was some sort of pact. Not something easily broken. If your fairy is protecting someone, then maybe it’s best you don’t interfere.”

Steve shakes his head; “If it’s a pact there’s always a condition, though, right? There’s got to be something I can do to get him out of this.”

“You and I both know how ridiculous those conditions can be.”

It was true. Pacts always had an out, some sort of condition upon which they could be broken, so that technically, they were not viewed as imprisonment by the High Order.

The High Order didn’t really care, because if they did, they would have put in place some restrictions on the conditions. Everyone knew how outlandish they had become, how impossible they were to meet.

The fairy Natasha knew was told to catch the first leaf of autumn. Which sounded about as impossible as it was.

“Which autumn?” Steve had asked, “Like, autumn in New York?”

“Fuck if I know,” Natasha said, “And for that matter, how’s a fairy supposed to know exactly which tree the leaf is falling from? And if it’s even the first leaf? And when does autumn even start?” She sighs, “You get the idea.”

“If Bucky has to catch the first leaf of autumn then we’ll figure something out,” Steve says, nodding decisively.

“Jesus Christ, I’m almost tempted to come to the market just to see the fairy that’s awoken your long dormant sexuality.”

“It’s not about that,” Steve says, feeling himself flushing, “I’m just trying to help him out.”  
“Aww,” Natasha says, rubbing Steve’s back, “I know you are, Steve,” she pauses for a long moment, “And maybe in return, he can help you get off.”

Steve groans, “Okay, thanks for that, Natasha. I’m going to head out now.”

Natasha smiles like she’s proud of herself, and she probably is, “Okay, so, just let me know how the market goes next Saturday, okay?”

Steve ignores her. Not only was her sole joy in life humiliating Steve, Steve had also forgotten two of the items that she requested, so Steve had to cover another Saturday.

Not that he minded. Suddenly, Saturday shopping days were very appealing. He didn’t see himself switching back anytime soon. But it was the principal of the thing.

❁ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✾ ✿

The rest of the week brings Steve a steady flow of business. He’s busy with customers and processing orders every morning, and mixing the potions late into the evening.

His business isn’t the most popular potion store in Brooklyn, not by a long shot. But the neighborhood ensures a solid handful of regulars, and there’s always an odd face or two poking in curiously. The only problem is Steve only really makes enough to take care of himself. Hiring help is out of the question. And he doesn’t want to get an apprentice that he can’t pay well enough.

Natasha doesn’t generally deal in street traffic, preferring to sell ingredients to fairies and other witches. She sold health balms and small plants, but otherwise, interacted minimally with non-magical people.

Steve never had much of a touch with plants, and besides, his passion was always in potions. Maybe it had to do with him being a sick child, and his mother’s constant interactions with the neighborhood’s healer. Natasha said it was because he was a glutton for punishment.

Either way, the week passes quickly. Steve can never fully focus on what he’s doing, though, because he can’t stop thinking about Bucky.

Something about the fairy got under his skin. Natasha was right, it was about more than just worrying about helping him out, and as bad as Steve feels about it, he can’t help but picture Bucky’s face, remember the conversation they had, and blush all over.

Steve’s never been so bent out of shape about a person before. He’s fixated on him, thoughts constantly ending right back at the way Bucky looked when he smiled.

In the times that he’s not working, he reads up on binding spells and conditions. He replays the conversations he’s had with Bucky till he’s convinced that everything he says is always stupid and he shouldn’t ever open his mouth again. He makes notes in his spiral and calls Natasha to ask her questions about the fairy she knew.

Natasha says he’s obsessed; sounding fairly disgusted over the phone line, but Steve just can’t help it. Maybe he is obsessed, but Bucky’s the one persistent thing on his mind. Something about the fairy got to Steve, and he just can’t shake it.

He tries to convince himself that it’s just infatuation, that the next trip to the market will get him back on track and that maybe with a clear head he’ll actually be able to help the guy.  
He hopes so.

❁ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✾ ✿

Saturday rolls around with a news report of storms throughout Brooklyn. That usually means the fairy market is quiet, being as a lot of the clientele don’t enjoy getting wet.

Steve doesn’t love it either, but Natasha _really_ hates it, and she lets him know, under no uncertain terms, that he still owes her.

 _You’re going to regret this if I get pneumonia and die_ Steve texts her.

 _We both know why you’re really going to the market”_ Natasha texts back _But make sure you bring an umbrella._

Steve shoves his phone back into his pocket. Natasha doesn’t know _everything_ like she thinks she does.

Sure, Steve’s got at scribbled piece of notebook paper in his pocket with all his most promising research. And yes, his stomach is pleasantly fluttery as he makes his way through his side of the fence.

But he’s not going to text Nat back and confirm it. She’s probably knows what he’s doing, too. No way to win.

Steve’s butterflies ramp up into an anxious whirlwind as soon as he enters the market. He hopes he doesn’t throw up.

He forces himself to take deep breaths as he walks down the quiet market streets. It’s not empty by any means, but it is drawing the sort of crowds that usually only file in at the early hours of the morning.

It’s empty enough that Steve gets a good look at Bucky when he’s still quite a ways back.

He flushes and ducks his head when he meets Bucky’s eyes. Bucky must have already spotted him. When Steve shakes his head and berates himself for acting stupid, he looks back up to see Bucky grinning at him.

“Look who decided to show his ugly mug,” he says when Steve is within earshot.

“Hey, don’t talk about yourself like that. Bet your mom thinks you’re real cute.”

Bucky outright laughs, bumping into Steve’s side. Steve stumbles a little under the impact of the whole thing. He’s never seen Bucky like this, all smiles and warmth and _touching._ The side of Steve he touched feels tingly.

“I want to know how a little witch like you learned to talk such shit,” Bucky says.

“Brooklyn boy, same as you,” Steve manages. Looking at Bucky straight on when he’s like this is as easy as looking into the goddamn sun. Steve tries to focus on the space between his eyes so his voice doesn’t get shaky.

“That’s something that’s never been clear to me,” Bucky says, “Does this qualify as Brooklyn anymore?”

“Shit, Bucky, you’re the fairy. I don’t know.”

“Me? You’re the punkass, know it all witch.”

Steve settles next to Bucky at the stall, leaning just close enough to Bucky for their legs to brush, “Well, I don’t know about the parameters of fairy world, but I _did_ do some reading about binding chains.” 

“Oh, here we go,” Bucky says, but his mood still seems bright, “Go ahead, then,”

Steve takes his notes out of his pocket, “Okay, so, you made a deal.”  
“Obviously.”

“And you’re not going to tell me what it is.”

“Nah.”

Steve frowns, “Okay well, usually there’s a condition to be met. To get you out of the binding. And I get that you’re bound to this cart so.”

“So?”

“So I want you to tell me what it is, and I’ll do it.”

Bucky laughs, “What the fuck is up with you, Steve? Come on. Really. Is this cause I stopped you from getting the shit beat out of you?”

“No,” Steve says, annoyed, “I just want to help you.”

Bucky’s face goes serious again. His moods are so changeable they throw Steve a little off guard.

Bucky shakes his head like he can’t believe it, “Well, even if that were true, I can’t tell you.”

“What? Why?”

Bucky shrugs, “Just one of the my many conditions.”  
Steve scans his memory, “I didn’t read anything about that.”  
“That’s cause not everything’s in books you fucking nerd,” Bucky says, “Now come on, I don’t want to spend all day talking about this.”  
Steve tries to shake his frustration. He doesn’t know how often he’ll get to experience Bucky like this, and he doesn’t want to ruin it with his sour mood.

“Who said I want to spend the day with you anyways, Barnes?”

“Your skinny little ass taking up space at my stall says it,” Bucky says. Steve tries to push down the blush rushing to his face at the words. It’s just fucking teasing, it doesn’t mean anything. But Steve’s till hyper aware of his body as he moves to help Bucky around the stall.

There really isn’t anything to do. There are hardly any crowds, and Bucky’s stall doesn’t sell anything all that special. There are some basic potion ingredients, some fairly nice flowers, but nothing of note. It’s just another puzzling thing surrounding Bucky’s entire situation. What’s so important about this stall that it constantly needs a guard?

Mostly, though, the reason he sticks around and does mindless tasks is so he can spend the day with Bucky.

Bucky keeps coming up with shit for Steve to do, though, so it must be mutual.

“Didn’t know dusting was so key to proper stall maintenance,”

Bucky snorts, “Well that’s cause you’re a lazy do-nothing. Cleanliness is next to godliness, etcetera,”

“Holy shit did you just say etcetera in real life?” Steve can feel a laugh bubbling up in his chest.

“What’s wrong with that?” Bucky says, and he sounds genuinely offended, which only makes Steve laugh harder.

“Yeah, yuck it up. Bet your shop has all kinds of health code violations.”

Steve seizes on the opportunity enthusiastically, “You could come by sometime. I’d never turn down a chance to make you look dumb.”

Bucky shrugs with a smile, but Steve still realizes what he’s said. Why it’s not going to ever happen.

He and Bucky aren’t ever going to get to know each other outside of the four sides of his stall. Which is a shitty thing to even think about, Steve realizes. It’s not about him and whatever weird crush he’s got on the guy.

If it’s frustrating to him he can’t even imagine what it’s got to be like for Bucky.

“You still with me?” Bucky asks.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Steve says, “Sorry, just was super into my dusting.”  
“Hah. Hah.” Bucky says, and they fall back into their easy teasing, but there’s a lump in Steve’s stomach that never totally leaves.

He leaves the stall for a little bit to do the rest of his shopping—some mushrooms and seeds for Nat, a few smaller items for himself—before returning.

Someone new is leaning against the stall when Steve gets back. He’s leaning close to Bucky, mouth almost touching his ear as he speaks to him, and Steve’s struck by such a sharp pang of jealousy he stumbles over his own two feet.

He must make a noise because Bucky jerks back and turns to look at Steve.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just takes Steve in with startled eyes that flit between Steve and the other man.

Steve doesn’t know if he should approach or not. He almost turns and walks away right then, feels like he’s intruding, but his bag is still slung over the stall so he hunches his shoulders and shuffles towards them.

He catches a brief murmur from the man leaving the stall, words unintelligible, but voice sharp, and then Bucky’s attention is focused back on him.

Steve doesn’t know if he should mention it, and Bucky seems to want to ignore it completely, so Steve lets it go.

“Nice trip,” Bucky says after an awkward pause, “Have you heard of this thing called walking?”

Steve smiles despite himself, and grabs his bag off the corner of the stall, “Nice joke, have you heard of this thing called being funny?”

Bucky shoves at Steve’s arm. Bucky does that to Steve a lot. He’s a handsy guy, probably is like that with everyone, and it’s not like Steve minds. Except.

He rubs his neck, “Hey, Buck, think I’m gonna be going.”

Bucky’s cheerful mood seems to dull a little bit, back to the strange subdued nature from when the man left, “Alright, sure. You know the market’s open a couple more hours?”  
“Yeah, I know,” Steve says and shrugs, “I just have a lot of things to do,”

“Oh, very busy, I got it,” Bucky says, “Well, it’s really nice of you to carve out this time for me.”

“Shut up, Bucky, I’ll see you in a week. Tops.”

“You promise?”  
“Oh my god are you eleven?” Steve tries to sound exasperated but he’s warm and pleased that Bucky wants to see him again.

“Not a lot of entertainment when you’re chained to a fucking stall,” Bucky says, but he’s smiling, so Steve snorts and the proceeds to make Bucky pinky promise with him, “I just need you to know I’m trustworthy, Barnes,” Steve says.

“Steve, and I mean this sincerely—fuck you.”

Steve’s almost overwhelmed with joyful energy when he finally tears himself away from Bucky’s stall, so focused on the way Bucky’s hand had felt in his that the memory of the other man pales in comparison.

At least, it does until Steve’s making his way out the market and he runs straight into him.

Steve doesn’t recognize him at first. He mostly got a view of his profile, and the back of his head, but the man smiles at him and says, “Hey, you’re James’ friend, aren’t you?”

Steve is taken aback, blurts, “Who?”

“Bucky,” the man says the name distastefully, and it’s only then that Steve realizes who he is.  
“Oh!” Steve says, “Right. James.”  
The man is older than he looked from across the street. He has to be at least fifty, and Steve tries to not let his jealousy cloud his judgment, but something about the guy’s eyes is making him uncomfortable.

“I just see him when I come to market,” Steve says by way of explanation as the man continues to stare him down, “We’re just friends.”  
“How nice,” the man says, before clapping Steve hard once on the back, “Well any friend of James’ is a friend of mine. Take care.”

The man moves away and seemingly disappears into the crowd surrounding him.

Steve glances back over his shoulder to see Bucky staring at him, eyes wide.

Steve meets his eyes and shrugs, not sure what else to do, then turns to the path he was taking before he was interrupted.

He tries not to focus on it, to instead think about the information about Bucky’s binding. Bitterly, he wonders how Bucky’s boyfriend can focus on anything else.

❁ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✾ ✿ 

Steve doesn’t know what hits him. He was never the healthiest guy, but Nat regularly concocted herbal health boosters for him to keep the worst of it away. His health was poor  by most standards. He had a few colds a year, and it was almost impossible for him to avoid the flu.

But whatever he gets sick with is worse than anything he’s come down with before. It absolutely knocks him out.

He wakes up Sunday morning, sweating through his sheets, and stumbles to the kitchen. He barely gets through putting his kettle on the stove to boil water before he has to sit down, vision going blurry with black dots.

He sips his tea slowly, and then has to work to keep it down. Breakfast is out of the question.

It’s not the first time that Steve is hugely frustrated at the limitations of his craft. Sure, if a sick college student came in asking for a nausea suppressant, Steve could whip her something up in a matter of hours, but for himself?

None of his own witchcraft worked on him. It was one of the rules. It wasn’t that Steve hadn’t tried it. At first, of course, he thought it was one of those stupid rules that was just to keep young witches for trying something stupid glamor spell on themselves. But each and every time Steve had tried, it’d only left him with the bitter taste of the potion and a stomachache.

The only other witch Steve trusted enough to swallow any of their potions was Nat, but the parts of her craft that addressed individual sickness were limited to the health boosters she gave Steve as often as she could. 

Steve spends three days in bed, miserable and barely able to move his aching limbs, before Natasha jimmies his lock and comes bursting through the door.

“Why haven’t you been answering any of my calls?” She says before laying eyes on him.

“Phone was too far away,” Steve says miserably, turning away from the light streaming in from the door, “Nat,” he groans, “Something is wrong.”

Natasha looks around the room before coming to sit next to Steve and laying the back of her hand on his forehead.

“Shit, Steve, you’re burning up. Shit. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Didn’t think it’d help. Thought I’d be better,” Steve rolls his too-hot forehead against the sheets.

“Have you had a fever this whole time?” Natasha demands.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know,” Steve replies hazily, “I’m gonna sleep, okay?”

Steve can hear the fading sound of Natasha’s voice saying, “Yeah, okay,” before he drifts back off into sleep.

When he wakes again it has to be near nighttime, and he’s still sweating so much the sheets are sticking to his legs.

Natasha is sitting in the chair next to his bed, eyes dark with exhaustion, hands full of herb bundles.

The room smells vaguely of thyme, and Steve realizes belatedly that his shirt is stripped and a wreath has been hung around his neck.

“Natasha?” Steve says. His throat feels like it’s on fire, his head is pounding so badly he can hear his pulse in his ears.

“Steve,” she says, “Oh thank fuck.”

“What’s going on?” Steve says, “What’s this?” He gestures weakly towards the wreath around his neck, but his hand feels like it’s weighed down, and he drops it back to the bed.

“You were in and out there for a couple days,” Natasha says. Steve has never heard her sound so unnerved, “You were just laying there, getting paler and paler and I couldn’t get you to wake up. And it wasn’t just sickness, Steve, I could tell something was off the minute I walked in here so—“ Natasha smooths her hair nervously, “This was the best I could do. I’m sorry.”

“Natasha, no. Don’t be. What did you do?” Steve says, voice cracking.

“I stopped the progression of—of—whatever this is. But I can’t get rid of it, Steve. This is powerful stuff. Whatever fucking bastard did this to you is gonna pay.”

“Did this _to_ me?” Steve says, “What do you mean?”

“It’s a curse,” Natasha says, “A fucking nasty one. I don’t know who you pissed off Steve, but you need to figure this out, cause you can’t keep going like this.”

Steve takes account of his body, the way it feels almost pinned to the bed with exhaustion, the painful fog in his head.

A _curse?_ Steve wasn’t the most popular guy, not by any stretch, but it wasn’t like he had any all and out enemies. He was usually too tiny and unintimidating to really draw any interest, and when he did, people usually backed off when they realized what a mouth he had on him.

Not that that got him into any lasting trouble, either. At least, not as far as Steve could tell. But clearly he was wrong. He’d done something and fucked up his whole goddamn life and fucked stuff up for Nat too, and Jesus Christ, he feels his chest tighten with the warning signs of a panic attack.  
“Whoa, whoa,” Natasha says, rubbing a hand soothingly down his arm, “Calm down, buddy. Look who you’ve got on your side. You think I’m going to let this shit fly?”

Steve heaves in a breath, “No,”

“That’s right,” Nat says, nodding sagely, “This shit will not fucking fly.”

She pats the wreath around Steve’s neck with nervous hands, “Give me some names, Steve. Something to do besides just sit here and watch you suffer.”  
Steve shakes his head, “I can’t think of anymore, Nat. The only person I really talk to is you and unless this is part of some plan to finally get this apartment—“

“Not funny, Steve,”

Steve smiles weakly, “Kind of funny. Besides that—oh,” Steve heart lurches into his throat, “Besides you there’s only Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Natasha lights on the name with a hiss, eyes narrowing, “Fucking fairies.”

Steve shakes his head, “No, Nat he’d never do something like this. He wouldn’t. It has to be someone else. Maybe something got brushed off on me in the market?”

“ _Steve,”_ Natasha says sharply, “This is not the kind of thing that just brushes off. This is powerful shit. This took a lot of energy. Someone really wanted to—to—“

Steve swallows, “They were trying to kill me.”

“Yes,” Natasha says, “And if Bucky’s the only name you got,”

“Bucky wouldn’t do it,” Steve says, voice coming out harsher than he means it to. Natasha literally saved his life, and this is the thanks he gives her? He didn’t know it was possible, but he feels even worse.

“I know you’re half in love with this guy, but I’m not letting you die over it,” Natasha snaps, “I’m gonna call Clint, and as soon as he gets here, I’m going to go find this guy and figure this shit out,”  
Steve forces himself to shut up, “Okay, Natasha,” he says, “Thank you.”  
“That’s fucking right,” Natasha says, “You’re going to owe me for goddamn _life.”_

Steve is such a piece of shit, “Yeah,” he says, throat feeling tight, “I already do.”  
“Jesus, Steve, are you _crying?_ Stop. Stop. I’m going to wait in the kitchen for Clint. Call if you need anything.”

But she stops and brushes the wreath back into place on Steve’s neck, and Steve feels the tears in his eyes spill over anyway.  
“Oh, Steve,” Natasha says, “You would’ve done the same for me.”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, barely able to get it out.

“You’re such a fucking loser,” Natasha says, and she pushes his bangs off his forehead, “Try to get some more sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says, “I really mean it, Nat. Thank you.”

“I know you do,” Natasha says, padding out of the bedroom, “And I think an evening with Clint is payment enough,”

“Clint’s,” Steve pauses, “Fine.”

“Uh huh,” Natasha says, “How recently did you have that nightmare where he pelts you with the darts?”

“Last Tuesday,” Steve says. He can see Natasha roll her eyes from across the bedroom, before tugging the curtain back and entering the kitchen.

Steve doesn’t mean to, but he falls back to sleep like he hasn’t rested for days.

❁ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✾ ✿

Clint is indeed there when Steve wakes up again. He’s on the same chair Natasha was occupying, but his back is to Steve’s bed, and he’s throwing darts at the wall, each landing with a heavy thump.

Steve barely takes a waking breath before Clint stops and whips around to meet Steve’s eyes.  
“You’re awake,” Clint says, smiling, “Good. Natasha will be happy.”

“Yay,” Steve says uneasily, eyeing the small handful of darts still in Clint’s hand. He stretches a little and tries to get comfortable with little success.

“So, um,” Steve shifts under Clint’s gaze, “How’re things with Nat?”

“Really great,” Clint says.

“And at, uh, work?” Steve says.  
“Also great,” Clint says, and then he leans forward and put his hand to Steve’s forehead. Steve would bolt out of the room if he had the energy.

“You still feel warm. I hope you know how worried we all are about you.”

Which leaves Steve pretty much agape because as long as Clint and Natasha have started up whatever weird, intense courting dance they’re involved in, Clint has spoken all of ten words to Steve at a time.

Everything he knows about him is through Natasha. He works for government potion development, apparently, and somehow Natasha had a connection to that. Steve gets a little suspicious, sometimes, about what Nat does in her spare time.

Steve had told Nat once, how Clint seemed a little off, and Nat had said, “He’ll be hurt to hear that. He really likes you.”

Steve thought she had been _joking._

But Clint’s face is as expressive as Steve’s ever seen it, and he looks worried.

“Well,” Steve tries, “I’m never going to be able to thank you guys enough.”

Clint nods straight-faced, “Yes,” and then he turns and continues to throw darts into the wall. Steve doesn’t have the nerve to tell him to stop.

He can’t fall back asleep, so he spends the next couple hours thumbing through a trashy book Nat had left on his nightstand.

It’s getting late enough that Clint has made two whole grunts about getting some shut eye, though Steve knows for a fact he functions just fine without it if he’s dating Natasha, when there’s a loud rap on Steve’s door.

Clint leans forward in his chair, hand going tight around the darts he’d collected from the wall, “Who is it?”

“Shit, Clint, stop it. What’re you gonna do? Pin them to death?”  
“Darts have a high fatality rate when used correctly,” Clint says.

“Jesus,” Steve says, “It’s just fucking Nat.”

“Nat knows the code word!” Clint says.

And at that moment the word “Budapest,” filters through the door and Clint finally drops his defensive pose and gets up to answer it.

“Told you,” Steve calls from the bed.

“Told him what?” Natasha asks.

“Told him it was just you.”

Natasha walks toward Steve, pulling a tiny, blue bottle from the canvas bag over her shoulder, “Well, that’s not the only thing you were right about today,” Nat says.

“Huh?”

“I found your Bucky,” Natasha says.

Steve flushes at her choice in words, “He’s not my anything,” he says.

“Well you tell him that,” Natasha replies, “Because he was about to drag that stall through the veil to get to you.”

Steve’s heart skips in his chest, “What?”

Natasha rolls her eyes, “I confronted him, of course, and I thought he would act like he had no fucking idea what was going on, which I was prepared for. But he just freaked the fuck out. Made a huge fucking scene,” Natasha clicks her tongue, “Was sort of embarrassing. And he said he knew who did it so—looks like someone was targeting you to get to him.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes.

“Yeah, oh. So I guess he’s your something. Or at least he thinks he is,” Natasha uncorks the blue bottle she’s holding.

“Anyways, he gave me this. It’s an antidote, apparently. It better work. He couldn’t come himself. He kept yanking on that goddamn chain, might I add, so add that to my humiliation tally for the day,”

The smell coming out the bottle reminds Steve of lavender and of his mother’s kitchen. Natasha’s eyes widen as the smell hits her, “Hol-ee shit.” Natasha draws the word out, “No way.”

“What?” Steve says.

“Yeah, this should do the trick,” Natasha says, face gone slack in astonishment, “Okay, Steve, open up.”

Steve opens his mouth immediately, and Natasha pours the contents of the bottle into his mouth.

The liquid is thick and tastes unlike anything Steve has ever had before. It’s almost bitter, but Steve still has an irrepressible urge to swallow.

Steve feels better as soon as it’s down his throat. He takes a breath, and he never knew before, but he’d been in pain his whole life.

The liquid he’s swallowed makes his limbs feel strong in a way he’s never experienced, his body feels healthy and whole in ways Steve never realized he was missing.

He continues taking deep breaths for a few moments, just reveling in how good it feels.

“Steve,” Nat’s voice breaks his concentration, “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” Steve says, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“What’s that weird face you’re pulling?” Nat says.  
“What face?” Steve’s offended. He immediately drops the smile his face had pulled itself into.

“I just feel really good,” Steve says.

“Aw, now he’s angry,” Clint says in something that sounds disturbingly like a coo.

“I am not!” Steve says, “I just—this is amazing. What _was_ that?”

Natasha picks the bottle up and turns it over in her hands, “If I had to make a guess I’d say it’s Stark’s Serum.”

“Oh, come on, Nat,” Steve says, “Haha. Good one. Now seriously, what was that?”

“I’m not kidding,” Natasha says, “I don’t know how he got his hands on some, but I’ve seen it before, and I’m pretty sure that’s what he gave you,” Natasha smiles wryly, “He didn’t do terrible.”

“Shit,” Clint murmurs, “What kind of fairy is Steve dating?”

“We’re not dating,” Steve says automatically, but he feels himself flush, “Um,” he says tossing his legs out of bed, “I think I need to—“

Steve runs his hands through his hair, shuffles across the room to toe on some shoes.  
“I really can’t thank you guys enough,” Steve says, “But I kind of—“

“The end to weeks of pining is the greatest thanks you can give me,” Natasha says.  
“Oh,” Clint says like he’s had a revelation, “Yeah, same.”

“Great, okay,” Steve says, “Wish me luck.”

“Don’t fuck it up!” Natasha says.

Steve grabs his bag and stumbles down the stairs to the sound of Natasha’s laughter.

❁ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✾ ✿

The sun is low and the air is cool by the time Steve makes it to the market. He’s not even sure Bucky’s going to be there. He never really pinned his schedule down, but Steve plans to show up every day till he runs into him again.  

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say to him. He’s still so wrapped up in how he feels, and what Bucky has done for him, that it doesn’t give him any space to freak out over it. Besides, everything with Bucky has always come easy.

Bucky’s cart is in its usual spot near the center of the market. Most of the people have cleared out, so Steve has a clear view of Bucky leaning against the stall picking at his fingernails.

Steve lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh.

“Hey, Buck,” he calls out.

Bucky looks up. His eyes meet Steve’s across the space between them and widen.

He smiles almost immediately, straightening up and walking as close to Steve as the chain will allow.

“Hey, punk, where’ve you been?” Bucky says as soon as Steve’s close enough.

Steve gravitates into Bucky’s space, can’t even help himself the way Bucky is looking at him. There’s less than a foot between them when Steve notices. He leans back on his heels and feels himself grinning back.

“Just lazing in bed. Got you to thank for getting me back on track, though,”

Steve would swear Bucky blushes as he looks down at the ground, “Well, it wasn’t much of anything,”

“I really think you’re selling yourself short, Buck,” Steve says, voice soft, “You saved my life.”

Bucky shakes his head; “I also got you into that situation,”

“No, Bucky, none of that,” Steve says, and he wants so badly to put his hands on Bucky’s tense shoulders, “You saved me, and that’s the end of it,”

“You’re like a fucking mule,” Bucky says, takes a step closer to Steve.

“How can I ever make it up to you?” Steve asks.

“You don’t owe me a thing, Steve,” Bucky says.

“That’s not how I see it,” Steve says, “And I’m not leaving you alone till you tell me,”

There’s a tense pause before Bucky takes in a breath, shuffles a little closer to Steve.

He reaches out and lays a shaking hand on the side of Steve’s face. It’s warm and rough and Steve can hardly breathe.

“Kiss me,” Bucky says hoarsely.

 Steve doesn’t even get a breath out before he lunges forward, closing the rest of the space between him and Bucky.

Their lips knock together clumsily before Bucky’s hand grips the back of Steve’s neck _just fucking right_ and tilts Steve’s head to fit their mouths together perfectly.

Bucky’s a fucking great kisser. Steve deliriously wonders how he gets his lips so soft as Bucky kisses him, brushing his tongue against Steve’s bottom lip.

Steve gasps, jerking his body closer to Bucky’s, pressing their legs against each other.

Bucky makes a quiet groaning sound, and Steve is so overwhelmed by the feel of Bucky all over him, hands in his hair, strong thighs pressed against Steve, taste of him and delicious sucking pressure on his lips, that he almost doesn’t notice the sharp clang of the chain snapping.

Bucky must not notice at all, because Steve’s distraction seems to upset him. He makes a noise of protests and nips at Steve’s suddenly slack lips.

Steve presses another kiss to Bucky’s mouth, can’t bring himself to deny Bucky or himself it, before turning his head away, gasping in a breath.  
“Steve,” Bucky says, voice low, “You wanna think about getting back over here?”

Bucky’s voice sounding like that does things to Steve. He feels his body flush with heat, but he tries to shake his head clear and concentrate.

“Bucky,” he says, shocked as his eyes confirm what he already thought, “Bucky, your chain broke.”

Steve expects a lot of reactions from Bucky—maybe he’d run off, never to be seen again, maybe he’d be off to track down the fucker who did this, maybe he’d break down crying after the shock of it wore off—but what he doesn’t expect is for Bucky’s face to split into a huge grin as he wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and pulls him closer.

“Knew it was you, Stevie,” he says, “From the first fucking moment I saw you,”

“Huh?” Steve manages, but then Bucky’s lips are on him again, and this time, there’s nothing to distract them.

❁ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✾ ✿

Bucky and Steve date for all of one week before Bucky moves in with him. It doesn’t make any sense for them to be living apart apart, not when everything seems to work so much smoother when they’re together.

It puts Bucky’s mind at ease, too. He’s still a little tense about Pierce. He spends the first couple of months they’re together pretending he has to go everywhere Steve is going.

Steve catches on pretty early, but he lets him keep doing it until they hit the third month and Bucky’s still pretending he needs to look for something he dropped outside whenever Steve takes out the trash.

“Bucky, come on,” Steve says as they reenter their apartment, “You gotta let up a little bit.”

Bucky plops down on the bed Steve’s burrowed back into. It’s a Saturday; they have the whole day to spend in bed together.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky says, nuzzling his prickly jaw into the soft skin of Steve’s neck, “Mmm, baby, you smell good.”

Bucky sucks on the marks already left from the night before, and Steve lets him for a moment, just enjoying the lazy arousal gathering in his stomach, before pushing him away.

“Nuh uh,” Steve says, “Buck. Come on. You can’t always be with me.”

Bucky nips at Steve’s jaw, “Why not?”

“Because it just doesn’t make any sense. You’ll get tired of just following me around and I’ll get tired of just being mothered after and I thin— _oh,”_ Steve gasps as Bucky slides a thigh in between Steve’s legs, putting pressure on his already half-hard cock.

“Mmm,” Bucky sounds very pleased with himself. Steve tosses his head, tries to shake some of the haze clouding his mind, but then Bucky slides the rest of his body between Steve’s legs, and Steve’s pretty much lost to it.

The hard, hot line of Bucky’s cock is situated back between Steve’s legs. Steve whines and presses his hips up, grinding his cock against Bucky.

“That’s my guy,” Bucky says, voice low, “You always want it, huh?”

And Steve wants to gripe and argue but it’s true. It’s been eight hours since Bucky’s been inside him, and the feel of Bucky’s cock pressing against his ass through their boxers already has Steve a little desperate for it.

“Yeah you do,” Bucky says, kissing Steve’s open mouth. He pushes Steve’s boxers down in one quick movement, breaking away from his mouth for a moment to push his own off.

Steve groans at the feeling of skin on skin, arching up into Bucky’s body, “Yeah, you want it bad,” Bucky murmurs mindlessly as he reaches in between Steve’s legs and presses a dry finger to Steve’s hole.

Steve’s hole is still wet and sore from the night before. He takes Bucky’s finger easily, canting his hips to dry to get it deeper in him, to help it hit just the right spot.

“Already wet and ready for me, doll,” Bucky says as he jacks Steve’s cock.

Steve can’t respond. He’s so overwhelmed, like he always is, by the feeling of Bucky all over him, hot cock pressing against his ass.

“You want it?” Bucky asks.

All Steve can manage is a whimper, but Bucky understands his guy just perfectly.

“Yeah you do,” Bucky says, and then he slides into Steve, hard enough to steal Steve’s breath.

Bucky fucks just like Steve needs. He’s hard and rough and sucking on Steve’s lips, his nipples, the sensitive skin on his neck, as he pounds into him.

Steve can never manage a word, it incoherent as he moves his hips to meet every thrust, to get Bucky’s cock as deep as he possibly can.

Bucky always takes care of him, hits his prostate every couple of strokes, lets out a breathy laugh as Steve squirms.

“Yeah, baby, look so sweet taking my cock,” and then he twists his hips as he scrapes a nail over Steve’s sensitive nipple and Steve comes in thick, pleasurable spurts between them.

“Fuck yeah, Stevie,” Bucky groans, and Steve clenches around Bucky’s cock. Just like he knows, Bucky swears and slams into Steve one more time before coming.

“Shit,” Bucky says as he pulls out of Steve. Steve makes a soft, pained sound, but he curls into Bucky’s body.

It takes awhile for Steve to catch his breath, but once he does he tucks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder, “Don’t think that’ll get you out of talking about this,” he whispers in his ear.

Bucky makes a disagreeable sound, tilting his head to kiss Steve’s hair, “I don’t see what the problem is.”

Steve doesn’t really see the problem either, but Nat had made some good points, “I want you to have a life outside of me. You’ve already been chained to something for so long—“

“I’m not chained to you, Stevie,” Bucky says, and then Steve can feel him smiling against him, “You’re my true love.”

Steve’s surprised how easily Bucky can still make him blush, with all that they do, but his face instantly heats at the words.

“Stop it you sap,” Steve says.

“Aw, sweetheart,” Bucky says, “Nothing sappy about it. Just the God’s honest truth.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s privately pleased.

Bucky starts to stroke Steve’s hair while Steve remains silent, just relaxing into the warmth of Bucky’s body.

“You’d never chain me, Stevie,” he says softly, “You set me free.”

 ❁ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✾ ✿

 

**Author's Note:**

> AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER!!!!!! Anyways I think I might not have made it clear but the conditions of the binding were True Love's Kiss anndddd that's it!! I hope you enjoyed and thank u for reading!


End file.
